Bobble Heads
by Solem-Quaero
Summary: Desperate to make up for the failed driving lessons between Chuck and Mike, Chuck goes out and finds a present for Mike, but is kept captive by the Duke.


The hood of my car crashed against the asphalt, and with great resilience pushed itself back onto its wheels and continued to speed off. My throat was raw from the screeching and burned like the engines that Mike was making me work so furiously. I'd promised Mike I would let him teach me how to drive, but I was getting sick from the repeated failure. Barely, like a static whisper, I can hear Mike sigh through the holographic screen.

"Alright, Chuckles, it looks like you've had enough, let's just go home." He says, his voice lacking the confident pep that it usually has.

I let out a sigh of relief and hit the breaks hard, inertia causing just one more flip. The look of Mike's disappointed face through the screen caused me to realize that he was losing hope just as quickly as I was crashing. Just the expression made my heart ache with self-doubt and incompetence. The thought of his friend being able to drive meant everything to Mike, and I couldn't even calm down enough to think rationally and give him this one gift. "You're a failure, Chuck," I thought. "As a driver and a friend."

The drive home seemed longer than it actually was. The atmosphere was thick with validated disappointment and the quietness hung heavy all around us like a lead blanket. My gaze wandered over to him, and as he looked my way, I adverted my watch, feeling unworthy for my eyes to meet his. We were always great friends, always viewing each other as equals, and even after other fruitless practices we were able to converse with each other like nothing happened, but something now just felt different.

I can feel his head turn to me and I slump lower in my seat, leather lifting the back of my shirt. From the corner of my eye I can see that he's smiling.

He pats me on the shoulder and says, "Don't worry, Chuck, I'm sure you'll get it eventually."

My stomach churns and sanguine disperses from my face. He's already losing confidence in me. The once "I know-" is now an "I'm sure-". I sighed and looked out the window, ignoring my sore throat I heartily reply, "I'm trying, really, I guess I just can't woo the vehicle like you can," turning around to give him goofy grin while on the inside I felt useless.

/

I felt restless, scratches from my car digging into my back. I wanted to think, but I didn't even know what about. How could I become a better driver? How could I make up the wasted time for Mike? Why don't I have a last name? All I could do was look at the decrepit ceiling and sigh. I can hear murmurs from the others, they mention my name a couple times, they've never seen me so apathetic. I close my eyes and turn my head over and open my lids to see Mutt with the road-crazed dog on the side with his tongue lolling out, almost startling me. I smiled slightly then realized that I really just needed to get out of here for a while. I rolled off the street-beaten vehicle and waved to the Burners, "I'm going to go out for a walk, see you in a bit." I hadn't talked in a long time, the sound of my anxious voice surprised even me a little.

"Oh, alright, see ya around, Chuck." Mike says, waving good-bye. His hair sweeps a little in the action, so close, almost revealing his eyebrows. Mike has such a nice face, I wish he'd show the whole thing.

I turn around and leave, the dense air of Motor City resting on my shoulders as I step outside. You could never get a breath of fresh air down here, but to me, seeing Mike seemed to be that bit of refreshment. I shake my head, my hair brushing my face and making me itch a little, something just felt wrong about the feeling, but felt so natural at the same time. Did I love Mike? Of course I did. But in what way?

I stared at my feet as the same statements ran around in my head. I analyzed each a thousand times, but I never seemed to remember what it was I was thinking about. I scratch the back of my head irritably and pull the bangs out of my eyes, not to see, but to feel the air on my forehead and cheeks, a warm, settling feeling.

When I finally did look up, I found myself at the junk yard, the stench of oxidized scraps and rotting items wafting up to my nose. I wrinkle my nose a bit, but realize this would probably be a great place to find a gift for Mikey. Without a second thought, I'm spelunking through heaps, looking for a present with sentiment.

One wrong place of a foot and down came a pile of junk, ringing pain in my head as it crashed. I lay on the dirt ground and a small groan escapes my throat. I try to sit up, but my hair offers almost no shielding from the sharp-edged object directly above it. I knock the object loose and it uses my face as a ramp and plops down in my lap. The very sight of it made me grin until my jaw hurt and I let out a quick laugh. The bric-a-brac that bruised my head was an amusing bull dog bobble-head.

The actual quality of the gift was fairly lacking, but the sentiment would be pretty great. Into my pocket it went and I scrambled out from under my cover of junk. Brushing debris and soil off me, I headed towards the exit of the junk yard, antsy to get out of here before anyone showed up, which was sure to occur considering how loud of a crash there was from the toppling pile. My gait is brisk, and the crunching and clanking of the objects below my feet covered up the more soft-spoken steps of the man walking behind me.

The treads of a shoe imprinted my back and forced me to the filthy ground, the sour smell of rot incapacitating my senses. A soft groan made it's way out of my mouth, pain showering my back and sickness raiding my stomach. Vomit threatened, but I held it down through ragged breaths from my mouth rather than my nose, tasting the scent of garbage rather than full-on smelling it.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mike Chilton's little pet," the familiar arrogant voice flooded my ears and made me wince. "What a pleasant surprise." The stultifying man put such awkward emphasis on his syllables, it made my head hurt.

"I'll give back the bobble-head, Duke, no harm done, right?" I was desperate, and it was noticeable in my voice, high pitch-breaks rattling my words. I let out a nervous laugh as though to ease the mood as I tried to wriggle out from beneath his heel, but a piercing pain in my right arm overwhelmed me; he was digging his cane into my bicep.

He twisted the cane, forcing out squeals of pain muted slightly by gritted teeth, as though trying to get out the last bits of tooth paste from the tube. I could almost feel him smiling down at me, the graceless grin contorting the skin around his glasses.

"Oh, no no no, Chucky, dear, you misunderstand. I don't care about a stupid collector's item, you see, just how much do you mean to ole' Mike?"

I took a deep breath, sickness threatening to leave my mouth at any moment. "A- a lot." I manage to stammer out.

"Would you say, oh, I don't know, maybe worth a car, a _really nice _car like, oh, I suppose, Mutt?" He asks, no longer drilling his cane into my arm, just prodding me, as though trying to ridicule me.

More than the pokes, the plan he just laid out in front of me drove me insane. "Mike, he'd never give up Mutt, and if he did, he'd find a way to get him back!" I cry out. Sweat is starting to blur my vision, and my bangs were like a veil over everything. I felt blind and so useless, and above all, so very fucking stupid. Clumsy Chuck, cannot even keep a damn garbage pile from spilling over.

"Oh, I'm sure he would, but what would happen if I kept his sweet friend Chuck as, let's call it interest."

Oh dear God. Bile no longer tried to force its way out of me, it was tied down by the knot in my stomach. I could feel the blood drop from my face and my body go cold. The weight of the devious car collector suppressed any shivers that tried to make their way to the top of my skin. _So stupid_, was all I could tell myself.

"A-and what if he never comes, huh?" My voice cracks and I can't tell if it's just sweat on my face any more or if tears have joined the concoction.

"Oh, don't try to act so naive, Chucky boy, we both know he'll come to find you, and there's only so many places he can look." I'm not sure if the thought of Mike coming here relieved or scared the living Hell out of me.

/

Hours passed, although I couldn't see precise details, I could see the lighting change and the landscape turn to a burnt color and eventually to a purplish blue. The pain in my back never got better, the man standing there never changed. I hadn't really expected that the Duke had such patience, but his boot never left my spine, nor did his cane leave one of my limbs. The sweat on my face cooled with the lowering temperatures and left me cold and lightly shivering. I was beginning to doubt that Mike would ever come. And either to my happiness or my horror, I heard the revving of an engine in the background.

"Hey, Duke, let Chuck go!" Mike calls. I never thought I'd be so happy to hear anyone's voice.

"Always rushing to the point, wouldn't you like to hear my proposition first?" The Duke replies gaily.

"What do you want." Mike sounded closer, and I suddenly felt embarrassed for being so vulnerable.

"Isn't that obvious? Give me Mutt, and I'll give you Chuck."

"Or what?"

"Oh, come _on_, Mike, don't be so dull. If you refuse to give me Mutt, I could break his back right here right now before you even get the chance to pull out your cute little staff. And even if I decided to spare the kid, we're surrounded by security bots, one false step and you're toast." Oh God, poor Mikey, he's in a catch-22, either way he'll lose something he cares about.

Answering quickly, but not too promptly, Mike says, "Okay, here you go." I can hear the jingling of Mutt's keys through the air and the silencing as they land in the Duke's hand.

"Thank you very much for your cooperation." The Duke says. I can hear him prance through the dump and open the door to Mike's car.

I can't stand up, the muscles in my back screeched when I tried to use them and my right arm felt as though it'd been struck by a baseball going 100 miles per hours one hundred times in a row. But it didn't matter, Mike crouched down and lifted my limp frame easily. His arms were reassuring and his body warmed me up. I stuttered out a sigh and said, "Oh, man, Mikey," it was all I could figure out to say. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it wasn't your fault, Chuckles, it's all alright now." Mike pressed his lips to my forehead and the sanguine that had escaped earlier returned. "Besides, you want to see something cool?" He grins his sweet grin down at me, it made my chest hurt. How can he be so optimistic in this situation?

"What?" I manage through my tight chest.

I let him carry me out of the junk yard and he sits down. He sets me carefully in his lap, cautious as to not jostle any wounded limbs. From somewhere unknown, he conjures the same controller he'd used to drive my car during my race with the Duke. Realization spreads through me and a quirky smile spread across my face as he activated the controls, and from the distance, the screeching of tires reached our ears. In maybe five seconds, the form of Mutt was visible again and quickly making its way towards us. It leaped out and Mike slams the breaks, keeping it at a close yet safe distance.

The blob of a body that was the Duke spilled out, and crawling on his hands and knees, he made his way out of the area in an unstable manner.

A raspy laugh escapes my lungs and I bury my head into Mike's chest. Slowly, very slowly, I pull the saved bobble-head from my pocket and hand it over to Mike while saying, "I thought you might like it."

He stares at it for a while until a jaw-busting grin forms on his tanned face. "Chuckles, you crazy idiot, I love you."

And suddenly I didn't care what kind of love it was, all I knew is that with Mike is where I was happy and in my goofy voice, I reply, "I love you too, Mikey."


End file.
